Defying Gravity
by AllyrienDM
Summary: Lizzie Donovan runs across an old prototype of her father's. Set post-Everything Is Illuminated AU, but can easily be read as a standalone. T for mild language.


A/N: A quick note to all my readers! I hope you're excited to see something a little different from our usual. To those who may have stumbled across this story, Defying Gravity is set in the Everything Is Illuminated AU in which Jo finds out she was pregnant before they took their little detour to 1947. Everything Is Illuminated is still a work in progress, but these short stories are set in the future. Spoilers should be minimal (baby names and whatnot). This could easily be read as a stand alone.

Defying Gravity

Lizzie Donovan was bored.

Her parents were off saving Eureka from whatever disaster the latest inept scientist had cooked up in his or her laboratory, and not for the first time, she and her siblings were 'under guard' at Grace and Henry's house, which was to say, Grace was babysitting. Lizzie was eleven and the supervision chafed more than a little; she further resented that Claire, who was after all sixteen, didn't seem to mind in the least and had in fact settled down to watch a movie with Jamie. Just a few months ago their parents had been willing to leave them with S.A.R.A.H. (well, at least until that day when Jamie had rewired some of S.A.R.A.H's circuitry, inadvertently locking them in and everyone else out and forcing their parents to come retrieve them through the skylight. But that hadn't been her fault!)

She picked her way through the controlled chaos that was Henry's garage. Henry, of course, was off with all the other adults saving the day. Lizzie didn't even know what the catastrophe of the day WAS; the time Jamie had locked them inside S.A.R.A.H., she knew, had something to do with robot velociraptors, which Lizzie imagined was the reason they wanted them in the bunker with Jenna and Kit in the first place.

Lizzie hissed in pain as she stabbed her toe on something covered in a thick blanket. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was some kind of dust cover, though ill-fitted, which was odd. In actuality there were very few cars in Henry's garage, despite the ostensible function of a garage; it was mostly dominated by broken or half-finished contraptions for Henry's tinkering. But he never kept his contraptions covered (though perhaps he should, Lizzie thought as a veritable shower of dust motes drifted past her face in the sunlight.). Curious now, Lizzie cleared the accumulated bits of metal detritus upon her mysterious discovery and tugged off the dust cover.

Lizzie's eyes widened with interest at the sleek black vehicle that lay beneath the dust cover. It resembled her father's old motorcycle to a T, down to the dust cover and unceremoniously burial in a pile of junk, so in hindsight she supposed she should have expected something of the sort. Still, why on Earth did Henry have this in his garage? She entertained a brief notion of Henry in a black leather jacket and sunglasses, like a member of Hell's Angels, and giggled until the dust made her sneeze. The loudness of the sound in the enclosed space made her pause, her eyes darting cautiously to the door from whence she'd come, but Grace failed to appear. Relaxing, Lizzie turned back to the strange-looking bike. Unable to resist further exploration, she gave it a cautious tug. Nothing happened, so she pulled it further into the cleared floor space at the center of the garage and tugged the dust cover the rest of the way off.

She frowned at gleaming machine. On first glance, unlike most of the machines in the garage, this one appeared to be finished. The accents and the squishy-looking leather padding for the seat certainly suggested completion. But if so, where on earth were the wheels? How was this thing supposed to work?

Lizzie straddled the thing, as she had occasionally done with her father's bike, in secret. She frowned at the controls, which were truly unlike anything on her Dad's bike and in fact seemed unnecessarily complex for any motorcycle - even one which, it seemed, was designed to hover rather than use wheels. And she didn't see a key for the ignition, which was odd. There was, however, a button with a power symbol - Lizzie rubbed a finger over it thoughtfully, wondering how one went about refilling the fuel tank on this thing.

No-one was more surprised than her when the panel beneath her hand lit up and with a noisy _swoosh _of air the bike rose up beneath her. Lizzie's face went momentarily white - she was heartily relieved her feet had been on the pedals built in at the time, because the air beneath her feet was very warm indeed, and she did not want to think what would have happened had her feet been there when those propulsors had ignited _– what were they thinking, this thing should have some kind of warning label_ - Lizzie took a deep breath. She should probably turn the thing off.

But... she was _so_ bored. There was nothing to do when you were at Grace's under house arrest, really, and though they had perhaps _earned _that house arrest from time to time, she was really old enough to stay home alone - or at the very least with Claire (who, seriously, Lizzie could not understand tolerating being treated like a child this way). Really, she had earned a little excitement.

And this thing was just too cool. So it had startled her a little at first, and yeah, it really _did_ need a warning label or ten, but frankly she couldn't understand why it had been left to rot in Henry's garage. The thing had potential! And Lizzie was sure she could manage it, she'd been sitting in on all the driving lessons Mom had been giving Claire for the past few months. She could take it out onto the back roads - there were certainly plenty, all she had to do was turn right instead of left coming out of Henry's driveway, really.

If she got caught, she was so going to be grounded for a month. Probably more, even, but she was grounded all the time anyways. Another month would be a drop in the bucket. She was so doing this.

Cautiously, Lizzie touched the power button again and sighed in relief when the bike didn't crash to the floor but lowered gently to the ground. She slipped off the seat and looked at the doors to the garage. If she opened the big front doors it was bound to grab somebody's attention, but the wide back door faced the house. If Grace heard her, her great adventure would be over before it started. Still... she looked between the doors again. She'd just have to be quiet. The bike itself didn't make that much noise, or at least not the kind likely to alert someone to what was going on.

Having made her decision, Lizzie approached the door and opened it carefully wide, glancing around. There was nobody else outside - Grace, it seemed, had managed to keep everyone but her busy. Lizzie walked back over to the bike, looking at it thoughtfully. She'd never manage to drag it all the way out on her own, she knew - had barely managed to move it a few feet - she'd just have to ride it out, carefully.

Lizzie straddled the bike again, careful to put her feet on the pedals, took a deep breath and activated the on button. The bike thrummed to life beneath her, and Lizzie felt a rush of anticipation. The day was looking up already.

Cautiously, she manipulated the strange steering wheel; inching forward, tilting to the sides experimentally. She was hovering about a foot off the ground as she maneuvered through the door out of the garage. She was just bracing herself to speed up, when -

"Elizabeth Eileen Donovan, _what are you doing,"_ her mother's voice demanded ominously. Lizzie jumped a little in surprise, her hand jerking the controls - and screamed as her ride shot a good thirty feet higher in the air. Her mother's small face below her was deathly white, and she was uncharacteristically silent. For a moment, that was.

"_Zane_," she demanded, her voice thunderous. Her husband, having come running at the sound of screaming, but having missed the cause, approached her warily.

"What's wrong, Jo?" He asked hesitantly. "I heard screaming."

"Why," Jo asked, her voice frightening calm. "Is our daughter on a SkyCruiser." Zane's gaze shot upward, fixing on his daughter with surprise and a healthy dose of fear. Whether it was fear _of_ his (deadly) wife's response or fear _for _his daughter was up for interpretation. He hesitated, most likely weighing the risks and benefits of his chosen response.

"I take it that's Lizzie up there?" Jo shot him a Look.

"Of course that's Elizabeth. Do you know another daughter of ours who would pull such a – a – a typically _you _stunt?" Zane opened his mouth, tempted to point out that Claire and Amy had their moments, then closed it again, deciding silence was the better part of valor at the moment.

"She doesn't look too worried," he pointed out finally. Jo pursed her lips, dark eyes flashing, but said nothing.

He wasn't wrong. Up above - after the initial shellshock from the ascent wore off - Lizzie was becoming accustomed to her current situation, and in fact her insatiable curiosity was making a comeback. Obviously she had underestimated the capabilities of the bike, to say the least, but really the discovery had only increased its potential.

It was, however, unfortunate that her parents were down below. Lizzie peered beneath her. They looked tiny down there, and she couldn't hear a word of the protests they were no doubt making with regards to her... situation. She could see Grace coming out of the house now, sure to be followed by her siblings, and she looked away, wincing.

She busied herself with the controls in front of her. Already she'd worked out how to move from side to side, and forward - and she definitely had a handle on _up_. Logically, then - she maneuvered the steering system carefully, turning herself in a small circle, and tapped the pedal, speeding up.

Below, Zane and Jo watched their daughter whizzing through the sky with a faint "Whooo-hooo!" with extremely varied levels of amusement. Jo's arms were crossed over her chest, her expression forbidding, though her lips may have twitched a little with amusement here and there. She gave Zane a look rich with exasperation.

"This is your fault."

"_My_ fault? _I _seem to recall an occasion on which you scared the living daylights out of me piloting that thing. It takes two adrenaline junkies to tango, _dear_."

"Truer words," Claire muttered from behind them. Zane shot her a sharp look. She might the spitting image of him, but right now the expression was all Jo, one neat eyebrow raised, arms crossed over her chest. She turned her gaze back to her sister, looking resigned.

"Doesn't look like she'll be down anytime soon." She commented. Zane ran a hand through his hair - graying, and was it any wonder around here? He glanced at Grace, who looked torn between laughter and concern where she stood with Jamie. His son's expression was even more worrying - if Zane had to describe it, he would go with calculating. Zane narrowed his eyes. There was another one missing.

"Where is your sister?" He asked, and Claire gave him an amused look.

"Somewhere over Henry and Grace's house?" She asked rhetorically. "You gonna be needing those glasses soon, Dad?" Zane narrowed his eyes at his eldest daughter.

"You know what I meant." She did, and shrugged at him in response. "Inside, reading. Says it's not like she hasn't watched Lizzie get in trouble before, and she's sure she'll hear all about it tonight."

All true, and Zane had no doubt that Amy had watched Lizzie get in trouble more times than he even knew. As had Claire, who looked more annoyed than surprised by the turn of events.

A tug on his arm drew him back to Jo, whose hazel eyes were now wide with renewed concern.

"Zane," she said in an undertone. "I know that fuel tank can hold hours worth of fuel, but how much has been used already?" Zane froze, his eyes returning to the girl currently zipping through the sky - his very, very little girl. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips nervously.

"I have no idea who used it last, or whether or not it's full," he admitted.

Claire, who'd been listening to her parents the whole time, stepped in.

"Oh, for the love of God," she muttered, pulling her cell phone from out of her pocket and dialing. Above them, Lizzie paused in her antics, rummaging through her pockets. Claire pressed the phone to her ear impatiently.

"Hey Claire-bear!" Came through loud and clear, and Claire pressed her lips together thinly, though she shook her head sharply when her mother moved as if to intervene.

"Lizzard," she responded calmly. There was a snort of annoyance through the phone, but nothing else. Claire pressed on. "Look, nobody knows how much gas there is in that thing." There was a long silence. The SkyCruiser above them jerked abruptly, making Zane flinch, but nothing happened.

"Claire?" Lizzie's voice came over the phone, sounding very small indeed. "I don't know how to get down." Zane inhaled sharply, gesturing now for his oldest to hand over the phone. She did, her blue eyes dark with concern as she handed him the phone.

"Hey there, firecracker." Zane said, forced joviality informing his tone. "You are _so_ grounded." There was a little pause, then, grumpy:

"Well, talk about incentive to come down, Dad." Zane let out a breath. She sounded shaky, but she'd be fine.

"Alright," he began, "you're going to start by easing off the throttle - you know which one is the throttle, right...?" And step by step, Zane talked his daughter back onto solid ground, all the while thinking:_ You bet your ass you're grounded, sweetheart._

* * *

><p>AN: I'm so not ready to send this out into the world... but I promised. As a penance for my incredible tardiness with chapter 18 of Illuminated. In general I think it's gauche to ask for reviews, but I'm going to break my own rules - please, please let me know if this works for you. This is my attempt to branch out into writing original characters effectively.

ADM

P.S. Hope you caught the nod to Wyndes's _The B.O.U.S. Problem_. Awesome story that it is.


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